Lady Dearing's Masquerade (8 page)

Please don’t disobey me now.

A moment later Philippa poked her head out of the hole. Pale despite smudges of dirt on her cheeks, the girl had clearly screwed up her courage to be the first out. Livvy stretched out her hand and helped her climb out of the gap to emerge, staring wide-eyed at Sir Jeremy.

“Sir Jeremy, this is Philippa,” said Livvy.

She gave the girl a pointed look until Philippa dropped Sir Jeremy a polite curtsey, which he returned with a grave nod.

Livvy turned back to the gap. The next face to appear was Robbie’s; his eyes seemed enormous in his puckish little face, beseeching her understanding. She lifted him out bodily, taking the opportunity to give him a quick squeeze before setting him down and introducing him.

Ben emerged, his face sullen. Though he dared not try to speak, he made a little bow when introduced to Sir Jeremy.

Finally, Livvy helped Mary through the gap. The girl scrambled out, bearing a basket containing the food they’d stolen. Paler than the rest, she kept her eyes downcast.

“Sir Jeremy, this is Mary,” Livvy said, watching Sir Jeremy closely to see his reaction as Mary curtseyed to him.

The moment stretched awkwardly as he stood staring down at Mary with an odd yearning in his eyes. Livvy’s heart, which had started to slow, resumed its gallop. Then as if suddenly released from a spell, Sir Jeremy bowed.

Livvy drew a ragged breath. “Perhaps one of you will explain what you were doing in the cave. Philippa?” she said, turning her gaze toward the eldest.

Her heart bled to see Philippa’s look, defiant and pleading at the same time.

“I—we could not allow Sir Jeremy to take Mary back to the Foundling Hospital,” the girl returned at length.

“So you were listening to us in the library? You know how I regard eavesdropping.”

Ben stepped forward, dark eyes large in his face. “It was m-m-m-m-me,” he said, with a painful effort.

“Thank you for being honest,” said Livvy more softly, then looked around the small group. “But what an ungrateful thing to do! Do you not realize that you very likely owe your lives to the kindness of gentlemen like Sir Jeremy, who manage and fund the Hospital?”

Robbie began to sob.

She longed to cuddle him, but resisted. “How do you think Sir Jeremy must feel now?” she said, raking the group with her eyes.

Philippa and Mary both burst into tears; Ben was scowling with the effort of holding his own back. Sir Jeremy shifted his stance uncomfortably.

She’d done enough.

“You must all apologize to Sir Jeremy now.”

The children broke out into a chorus of frightened apologies, which Sir Jeremy accepted gravely but politely. Then Livvy went to hug each one in turn.

“But we still don’t want Mary to go!” blurted out Robbie, as she embraced him.

Livvy moved on to Mary, whose face was still streaked with tears.

“Don’t make me go, my lady!” whispered Mary, clinging to her. “Please don’t ask me to tell you why!”

Livvy glanced over Mary’s head toward Sir Jeremy. His expression smote her: stark misery. He’d heard.

“Listen, all of you,” she said, still holding Mary. “You must not have heard all of our conversation. Sir Jeremy was not talking of returning Mary to the Hospital.”

“No?” Mary lifted her head to stare up at her.

Livvy gave Sir Jeremy a questioning glance. He nodded.

“Sir Jeremy was thinking of taking you to his aunt’s house, which is in London. His wife used to enjoy playing with you, years ago, and she commended you to his care.”

Mary looked puzzled.

“Do you remember Lady Fairhill?” Livvy asked. “You would have been about six when she visited the Hospital.”

Mary nodded. “Yes. She brought us gingerbread, and taught me some embroidery stitches.”

“Sir Jeremy is her husband. He wants to take you into his own family and care for you.”

Mary eyed Sir Jeremy but continued to cling to Livvy.

“Mary,” said Sir Jeremy in the gentlest of voices. “I do indeed have a particular interest in your welfare, but I don’t wish to cause you pain. I shall not insist that you leave Lady Dearing at present.”

Mary wilted in Livvy’s arms.

Sighing, Livvy looked around and saw the color returning to the other children’s faces. She turned her gaze back to Sir Jeremy and gave him a grateful look.

“Children,” she said briskly. “It is time all of you returned to the house and got yourselves cleaned up.”

She loosened her hold on Mary, who slowly withdrew from her embrace and went to stand near Philippa.

“Go on, all of you. Hurry so you may be clean in time for our meal. And there will be no sweets for any of you for a week!”

Philippa led the rest of the children as they ran off in the direction of the house. Livvy suspected they were all relieved to have gotten off so lightly.

Then she turned back to Sir Jeremy. Furrows had formed above his brows; his jaw was set at a harsh angle. But the bereft look in his eyes belied everything else, softening her fear into pity.

“If you continue to be so gentle, Mary will learn not to recoil from you,” she reassured him.

He stared after the retreating children.

“Allow her some time. I am sure it will be well.”

He turned back to her, a muscle flexing in his cheek. “I believe you are laboring under a misapprehension, Lady Dearing. Do you think I am Mary’s father?”

“I meant no offense,” she said, coloring. “If you say you are not Mary’s father of course I believe you. It is just that . . . you looked at her with such yearning. You have no children of your own?”

“It was not . . . not possible.”

“I am sorry,” she said quietly. “I must thank you again for being so patient with Mary.”

His jaw tightened again. “I’m not such a brute as to drag her away forcibly. But neither can I leave matters as they stand. I cannot give a good report to the General Committee after such an incident.”

She shivered. Things had been going so well . . . but he had all the power. It was time to abandon pride and plead, cajole, whatever was necessary.

“I know how badly this looks,” she said. “But the children usually mind me very well, I assure you!”

“Some of the Governors speculate that you overindulge the children. I have seen nothing to refute that claim.”

“But you will. At present the children are too upset to make a proper demonstration of their progress, but perhaps, if you return tomorrow . . .”

“Do you think they will not run away again?”

“They will not,” she said, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. “Perhaps, if they become better acquainted with you . . .”

“Do you know how that might be accomplished?”

“You are of course welcome to make more visits. Perhaps spend a few days with each child, over a period of a month,” she said recklessly.

He turned from her, broad shoulders tense. He seemed lost in thought; she could not see his face or guess if he liked the idea. It was beginning to terrify her.

“I realize you are busy with the branch hospital project, and of course you have an estate to manage,” she said, unnerved by his stillness.

“This is important,” he replied, turning back to her, his gaze darkly intense. “Very well. I shall come for a few days during each of the next four weeks.”

“As long as you do not think it would give rise to gossip.”

“I can care for my own reputation. Anyone who knows me would realize I am here on Hospital business, nothing else.”

A blush rose to her cheeks. “Very well,” she said. “I must thank you for giving us a second chance. I hope we shall be able to satisfy you.”

“I hope so too,” he said unexpectedly.

His deep voice soothed her like a caress. She smiled. The children’s escapade had
not
ruined everything.

Stillness surrounded them, scented by damp earth, ancient trees and bluebells. His eyes were soft, full of unfathomable longings. Here, again, was the man who had kissed her back to life when she’d thought such a thing was no longer possible. Desire seeped into her, heightened by the lingering memory of his arms around her on the path.

She shivered and looked away. She must have been mad to suggest a plan so fraught with opportunities for her to betray herself. If he guessed how scandalously she had behaved, how he’d been deceived, or how powerfully his presence, even his voice, still affected her . . .

“Shall we return to the house, then?” Without awaiting a reply she headed down the path.

Painfully aware of him beside her, she set a pace too quick for conversation and watched her every step, not daring to risk another touch. Desire was a cheat. She would not succumb to it again; she would not allow it to rob her of everything that mattered.

Never again.

* * *

Livvy shifted her position on the edge of the bed and glanced toward the doorway once more. Where was Walter?

It felt as if it had been hours since Alice had brushed out her hair, had helped her into her new nightrail and dressing gown, both white and shimmering, the dressing gown tied in front with knots of blue ribbon. She caught herself toying with the knots, and stopped.

She wasn’t afraid; she was nearly eighteen after all. Her stuffy old aunt had to be wrong; this was not going to be an ordeal. It would be as the poets described it. Rapture. Abandon. A brief, glorious death in each other’s arms.

For weeks, she’d hungered for it, tasted it in his greedy kisses. She loved him; loved the way he’d followed her to London, which he despised, for her Season; the loyal way he’d glowered at every other suitor for her hand.

She started, hearing the door open. She turned and drank in the sight of her husband.

Her husband.

Tall, with light brown hair waving over his forehead, a dressing gown half open over his broad chest, his face ruddy in the candlelight, his gray eyes dark and gleaming with passion. With need.

She loved to be needed.

“God, Livvy, you’re beautiful,” he said.

She stood to greet him, trying to smile though her mouth was dry. She licked her lips to wet them again.

“You’re beautiful, and you’re mine,” he gloated. “I must be the luckiest man in England.”

In two quick strides he crossed the room and crushed her to his chest. Her stomach fluttered at the contact, at the power she had to arouse him. She tipped her face up and he captured her mouth in a hard, possessive assault, rougher than he’d ever kissed her before, filling her mouth with the taste of brandy, bruising her lips, scraping her chin with the stubble on his cheek.

She flinched, then forced herself to relax. He loved her; he needed her; the fierceness of his kisses proved it. The thought sent heat rushing to her breasts, belly, places she didn’t have names for, just as it had during the few stolen kisses of their courtship.

This time there would be more. She wasn’t afraid. She wanted it, had longed for it for weeks.

He broke the kiss and snatched at the top ribbon of her dressing gown. She flinched again as he cursed loudly at the ties. By the time she had lifted her hands to help, he’d ripped the top one. Before she knew it, he had ripped through the remaining ties, then roughly pushed the dressing gown she’d chosen with such care off her shoulders.

He was so impatient. Passionate. Men were like that, perhaps. Perhaps it was going to be well.

He tugged at her nightrail until the draw-string gave way, and pulled it impatiently off her. She shivered and held up her hands to cover herself.

“Ah, don’t be so modest. You’re my wife, damn it, let me look at you!”

He grasped her hands, pulling them to her sides as easily if she had been a doll. Then raked his eyes over her for a moment while she stood shaking, assaulted by the suspicion that it was not love that shone from his eyes, but mere pride of possession.

He released her hands suddenly. She shrieked as he picked her up, took a few strides and flung her up onto the bed. Then his weight was upon her, crushing her, thick legs shoving hers apart.

Her stomach contracted with fear. Something was not right. Was he not going to kiss her again . . . or something?

She opened her eyes. “Walter, I—”

He stabbed into her, and her words fused into a cry. The pain was so sharp, so searing, it seemed he wished to split her apart. Then he plunged in again. She knew there would be pain, but she could accustom herself to the burning, the stretching. If only he would give her some time.

 “Please,” she whispered.

He withdrew a second time, and she sobbed in relief. An instant later she heard a grunt, felt the pain again. Tears clouded her vision. She could not see him; she could only smell his brandy-laden breath and listen to his rhythmic grunting as he jabbed into her again and again, and she realized he was too lost in drink and lust to hear her.

He shifted suddenly, aiming for a deeper angle. She braced herself for another onslaught, more violent than before. And another, and another, and she lay beneath him, weeping and trembling, praying for it to end.

Her prayer was answered a moment later when he let out a bellow and collapsed, crushing her bleeding, shaking body beneath him.

And slept.

Chapter 6

Jeremy turned Samson into Russell Square, glad to see the elegant brick townhouse that his uncle had bought as a young barrister. Though Jeremy had moved into Fairhill Abbey, the family seat in Hampshire, upon reaching his majority, Aunt Louisa, Tom and his wife all insisted he stay in his old room whenever business took him to London.

It still felt like home.

Leaving Samson at the stables in the mews behind the house, he entered through the garden door. He found them seated in the drawing room: Aunt Louisa, her small, plump form in a cozy wing chair, his cousin Tom sitting on the sofa, his arm fondly around the shoulders of his pretty wife, Charlotte. As Jeremy expected, they all turned quickly toward the doorway, their eager expressions fading to confusion.